


Drowning

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-04
Updated: 2004-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: It's not always about holding hands





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Through Players in S4   
> Disclaimers: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and many others.   
> Thanks: To the ever wonderful Yana for the encouragement and the beta.

"It's not always about holding hands." 

I was talking about Lilah. Lilah, the woman I had shared my bed with during my long period of exile; Lilah, whose moral ambiguity seemed to match my own; Lilah, the woman I had come together with out of need and passion and loneliness, not love; Lilah, the woman I had mourned and buried just a few days before. 

But it wasn't Lilah and her smooth, soft skin I was thinking of as I spoke. I was thinking of someone else, whose skin was hard and muscled, marked by old scars and fresh wounds. 

She was standing, naked and bloody in my shower, crumbled tile and masonry at her feet. When she turned to me, her eyes were haunted, filled with a pain I knew only too well. I was drawn to her. 

Without breaking eye contact, I unbuttoned my shirt and lowered my trousers until I was as naked as she, then joined her beneath the steamy spray. She pulled my head down to hers in a brutal, punishing move, ours mouths meeting in desperation. The kiss, if one could really consider it that, filled a void that words could not. 

The water pounded over our bodies as we frantically touched one another, trying to erase the memories of the day, the year, our lives. Our coupling was strong and intense. As I felt her shuddering around me, drawing me to my own completion, I was able to momentarily block the image of my dead lover's face from my mind. It would return later, in the dark hours of the night, but for now, my pain was forgotten in a haze of pure sexual need. 

Afterwards, when she raised her eyes to mine, the pain was erased, replaced with a cold deadness. I gently washed away the blood that remained on her skin and dried her with the softest of towels, then bandaged her still weeping wounds. 

We didn't speak. There was no need for words. This interlude didn't change anything. I still could not trust her fully and she still resented my presence in her life. We were allies for now, but it was a tentative truce, born of a common goal, not shared ideals. 

But I couldn't forget the look on her face as I had entered that bathroom, just as I couldn't forget the paleness of Lilah's corpse. And I knew that I would seek other women, other outlets, to drown those images from my mind, even if the relief was fleeting. 

Because it wasn't always about holding hands.


End file.
